Chapter Three:
Chilli Pepper and Ice Cubes
I
The assembly speech was nothing more than a pep talk meant to rally collective spirit of unity and solidarity. Nothing that much different from the welcoming speeches of Hogwarts, Harriet suspected.
Just with less food, which was, in her humble opinion, a raging disappointment.
It does, however, take her a little while to find the auditorium, all warm wood and heavy blue suede curtains, and moonlight streaming in and settling over curved rows of chairs. The Salvatore Boarding School doesn't have a vaulted ceiling, or an illusioned sky to gander up to, no houses to split apart the teens in rivalling factions, though she was sure there were, somewhere, subsects of alliances.
Fill a room with hormonal superbeings, and they would quickly find a way to say who was better than who and why and, ultimately, raise up their pitchforks to hunt down those they deem lesser. Tribal survival at its finest, and its most brutal.
Harriet, in fact, only spots the ersatz hall due to the large congregation of teens lingering outside the door waiting to be called in by the teachers setting up inside. Immediately, Harriet stood out.
Everyone had sported their uniform, a prerequisite for the welcoming speech Harriet didn't know was there. Girls in pressed oxfords and plaid skirts, knee high socks and Mary-janes. Boys have their ties neat at their neck, sweaters with logos at their breast, and beige and black pants pressed with a line down the leg.
Harriet, instead, arrives swanning down the hall in ripped jeans, an old Blue Oyster Cult sweater, leather gloves and combat boots that thunk loudly on the expensive wood under heel.
She doesn't make it far down the corridor to the hall, she stopped short and remained at the back of the throng, right by the turn off, avoiding the curious gazes aimed her way, counting heads quietly.
Forty… Maybe, at a push, sixty students max.
Barely a school at all.
More like a dumping ground for wayward souls. Not the best of news Harriet had hoped for.
In such a small pool as this, it was going to be harder to be as unseen as much as Harriet would like to be. People had the unfortunate habit of noticing the killer whale hiding in the shoal of goldfish. But, she supposes, hiding in a shoal of goldfish was better than being beached inside the fuckin' Veil again.
Eventually, with a spot of good luck for once, the doors were opened, and everyone began to advert their curious stares and trickle in and take their seats. Still, Harriet dawdled, waits and slips, ducks down between her red braids, and slid into the farthest back seat at the far-flung fringe.
The girl besides her hazards a skittish look before she turned to her friends on the right, whispering and giggling. Harriet ignores it the best she can, she's used to being stared at, laughed at, pointed at, printed in the papers and hounded, and instead, she takes a sweep of the raised dais up front.
Alaric was up ahead behind the singular podium, tapping on the microphone before him with a thud, thud, thud like a disembodied heartbeat. Behind him stood a row of people, men, women, teachers-
Possible problems to solve, Harriet thought.
Each one a pair of eyes watching too closely, each one, by the magic in the air, powerful in their own right, each one she couldn't get a full look at, a full sense of, because everyone was drowning each other out like it was a screaming match at a divorce court inside her mind.
The mousy brown-haired girl in the front row hadn't triggered her Lycanthrope gene yet, a precondition only Wiccan descended wolves were allowed it appeared, but she would in… Three years, seven months and fourteen days. She would accidently run over a single working mother on her way home from a night shift at a grocery store.
Dylan, a Wiccan boy in the middle row, would mix up his ingredients in a potion five years forwards, and the poor man who had bought it from his quant alternative corner shop would die of a tear in the stomach.
Some Vampire girl eleven seats across from Harriet would fight her thirst valiantly, only ever taking what she needed… Until one day she would take just a sip too much and get hooked on the thrill.
The main problem with having a room full of superbeings… It was also a room full of possible killers, and when you had the ability to see death, all death, potential and unavoidable, touch it, taste it, change it if you knew how, then it was a bloody migraine inducer. Imagine a muggle trapped in a two-by-two-foot room with strobe lights sparking, pounding music pulsing in the air, mouth full of chilli pepper and ice cubes, stinking of rotten flesh and open sores, and a thirty volt current being streamed through their body.
Wouldn't the muggle want out of that?
That was what being around people was like for Harriet Lenoir now.
Overstimulation to the point of numbness.
And sick.
It made her feel sick.
Harriet slyly patted her jeans pocket.
The black vile was still secreted inside safe, ready to be used if needed, and Merlin, Harriet had the uncomfortable thought that it would be.
Today, tomorrow, next Wednesday, it would be drunk ultimately.
What would she do when the potion stopped working? When she, inevitably, grew a resistance and-
Remus and Sirius would find answers long before then.
"Hello Everybody! Settle down now please! We'll keep this short and sweet tonight, as I am sure most of you are exhausted after such a long day. I would like to firstly say welcome back to our returning students, it's good to see all again, and welcome to our new pupils just joining us this year, I hope you find the place to your liking."
By the heads turning, and the incisive, sharp novelty aimed her way, there was only one new student.
Her.
"Now, for a set of quick introductions for those who have not had the pleasure of sitting through one of these assemblies before, or for those who need a refresher."
Squinting behind him, Alaric waved up a man at the right of the line.
He was a frowny chap, a purple waistcoat over a snappy-pressed shirt, the type of man, by his dress, who believed everything had its place on the ladder. A flare for the dramatics too, by the colours he chose. Calm, perhaps, by his lack of reaction to being called upon so quickly. Well mannered? Yes, Harriet thought, by the stance he took on the podium by Headmaster Saltzman, hands clasped behind his back, spine straight, chin tilted just shy of something proud.
Oxbridge or Ivy league educated, and an ego to go along with it.
"Professor Vardemus will be teaching Origins of Species this year."
The next one ushered up was an attractive woman, dark brown eyes and darker hair cropped at the shoulder, practical. She wears a dress that's light coloured, not afraid of dirt or stains then, her job was far away from all that, things that might make her hands filthy, behind a desk or-
Notepad, Harriet thought.
A counsellor or shrink of some kind.
A necklace dangling at her chest made from circles.
"This is Miss Tig, she will be your guidance counsellor, and at least one meeting with her will be mandatory for everyone this term."
A hushed wave of groans.
The following one was a young man, athletic build, in shape, tall in a dark, soft jumper and jeans. He looked friendly enough, relaxed too, but there was something there, Harriet thought. Something skulking beneath the softness… Principles, as pointy as they could be, like thorns on a rose.
He had a scale of right and wrong, black or white, dark or light, and he stuck too it, forgetting the shades of grey the world truly was painted in.
"This is Dorian Williams, our resident Librarian. Please take your syllabus to him by tomorrow to collect your needed materials for your lessons on Monday."
The next two came in a pair. The first was another man, large, muscular underneath his flannel and denim. He kept his arms crossed over his chest-
He knew how to fight physically, planting his feet hip wide, at two and eight. Used to a good ol' fashioned punch up, Harriet would hazard.
If trouble did go down, he would be the least of her worries.
You can't exactly hit something you can't touch. Of course, he could use weapons. Crossbows and stakes and knives, but-
Well, that hadn't worked in the Ministry, had it? Immortal had a different level when it came to Harriet.
Nevertheless, the one beside him was more worrying.
Physically, she was a beautiful woman, surrounded in an air of feminine mystery that would always prove popular and timeless. She smiled warmly, kindly, sympathetic and caring… Selfless. Harriet could almost taste it wafting off her.
The martyrdom complex.
She knew all too well how dangerous one of those were.
"Professor Gilbert will be taking over from Mr Bunton for Advance Civics. For those taking Chemistry of Magic, you will see plenty of Professor Bennet, and-"
On and on it went, through physics, astronomy, intro to Lycanthropy, the teachers stepped forward, some scowled, some smirked, some waved, and Harriet picked them down to their bones and sucked their fat from her fingers. She had to, if she was going to survive a year here and keep her cover air-tight.
One had a drinking problem that could be exploited if required.
A vampire with a devil-may-care smile did, in fact, care a whole lot. Easy to blackmail if the needs must. Plus, he kept glancing to the selfless one, the powerful witch, with big, bright blue puppy-dog eyes.
Romance between a witch and a vampire, how sweet.
Another vampire, blonde and dressed in Chanel, kept fiddling with a ring on her finger-
A gift from someone special, Harriet would predict. A gift from someone special gone, by the miniscule wince, almost unnoticeable, the vampiress gave when she noticed her actions. Bubbly too, by her being the only one to introduce herself before Alaric could speak.
Caroline Forbes, Headmistress extraordinaire.
Independent then. Less likely to go and get help if she thought she could handle it.
All of them seemed a bit out of place, just like the teenagers in the room, just like Harriet.
"And finally, of course, Professor Parker will be concurrently teaching Ethics to Magical application 101 and, new this year, History of Persecuted Genus's."
Fuckin' hell-
Not only did she now have this Professor Parker for Moral Philosophy debate club and tutor meetings, but she had also him for two of her lessons too.
Shi-
The last man stepped forward, into the light of the stage.
No one feature marked Professor Parker as handsome, though his eyes came close. People often spoke of the colour of one's eyes, Harriet had heard about hers her entire life, as if that were important, whether blues were better than browns or greens, or blacks more enigmatic than grey. It was hard to tell exactly what colour Professor Parker's eyes were, other than intense.
Just like the rest of him.
In that crowded chamber, he didn't appear to truly belong, as though he had been dropped in his Saville suit, whisked away from a Milan penthouse party with his cashmere turtleneck, enthralling whoever was in conversation with him over champagne, only leaving them realizing at the end that they did not recall anything important at all because he could chat without leaving a verbal fingerprint.
There's a type of charm that was dangerous, and Professor Parker had it in spades, knew exactly just how much teeth to show in a smile, how to tilt his head so the light caught just right, knew what to say and how to say it, as he grinned over to the student body, giving a little head dip that sent a pleased snicker from a few students in the throng.
And he knew it too.
Just like Tom Riddle had before he went splitting his soul into broken shards and insanity crept in.
Fuc-
He glanced up and, impossibly, met her eye across the room.
Children dead in the house. A brother in his hands, struggling to break free from the hands around his neck as he was shoved down into the cold water of the swimming pool again. A spleen in his hand, still warm and slick. A bowie knife in Professor Bennett's stomach. A startled gasp.
A woods near a shed, Professor Bennet chanting, Professor Parker watching on. "Phasmatos Tribum, Nas Ex Veras, Sequitas Sanguinem. Phasmatos Tribum, Nas Ex Veras, Sequitas Sanguinem." "Do you know why I'm here?" The chant continued. "Because my guilt keeps me up at night." Still no response, a sigh, long and drawn. "I don't-I don't expect you to believe me. But I need you to give me one more chance." No answer. Frustration, scorching and irritated. A hand rising to snatch at wrist and-
Anger caught before it could explode, a fist falling to an open, lax palm left swinging at a thigh. Professor Bennett has her eyes open. Professor Bennet sees. "One more Kai. You get one more chance to prove me wrong. Try anything at all, and I'll leave you here to rot."
When Harriet snapped to, she did not jump or gasp or cry, but she had slashed her palms with little crescent shaped cuts by squeezing her fists tightly.
So much death in one life.
So much pain and blood-
He was still looking straight at her, keen brow raising an inch curiously-
Harriet resolutely looked away, and refused to look back again, no matter how many times she felt eyes on her for the remainder of the speech.
II
When Headmaster Saltzman dismissed the assembly, half of which Harriet had not heard, she was one of the first out her seat and out the doors, but unfortunately not the first in the hallway.
A pretty young woman came skidding in from the left like a comet, a stack of papers fastened underneath one arm, slight and grinning brilliantly, dark hair wrapped up in a ponytail, slewing right into a stop in front of Harriet directly in her way for a quick escape.
"Hello!"
She shoved her hand out for a handshake, and immediately Harriet pitched back from the touch, stumbling, bumping into the students behind her who grumbled loudly at the blow.
Instantly, she swung left and into the wall, away from the people, now glaring, away from the touch.
They marched away, mumbling, but she heard the poor sod she had momentarily contacted moaning at his friend.
"I feel lightheaded, man… Maybe I should go sit down for a bit."
An auburn-haired girl joined the one left with her hand hanging in the air, wide-eyed at Harriet's visceral reaction.
"Careful, Josie. Remember what your dad said? No touch."
The other girl, Josie's friend by how close they stood to each other, smiled over at Harriet with her back to the wall.
"Sorry about her. She gets over enthusiastic, but she means well. I'm Hope Marshall, this is Josie Saltzman, we're meant to give you a tour of the place before curfew."
Saltzman.
Wonderful… Harriet had very nearly desiccated the Headmasters daughter or niece. What a brilliant start to an already great performance of not being noticed beyond just being there.
Harriet gathered herself and began to flank down the wall, away.
"Right, yeah, sorry, I forgot. I'm E-… Harriet Lenoir. I was told to pick up my time table after assembly so maybe we can do this tour some other time-"
And before Harriet could make her rather embarrassing getaway, Josie reached for the stack of papers under her arm, pulling a few sheets from the top free and holding it out for Harriet to take, back to grinning happily.
"No need, my father gave me these to give to you. Oh, wait, Lizzie, over here!"
From the crowd still spilling out from the double doors of the hallway, a blonde girl came parading over just as Harriet took the papers containing her timetable.
She, what must be this Lizzie, eyed Harriet up and down swiftly.
"This the new chick?"
Josie frowned deeply.
"Don't be mean."
Lizzie smirked.
"Now why would I go and do that? How did you do it, by the way?"
Harriet blinked, frazzled. Too many things were happening at once. The hall was too narrow, the roof too low, too many bodies in one place, a milkman was going to die tomorrow from his diabetes when he forgot his morning insulin shot, a child would lose his battle with cancer, a woman would have toxic shock syndrome and not notice the signs until it was too late and-
Breathe. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Back down again. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
Calm.
"Do what?"
Lizzie rolled her eyes.
Calm.
"Get a private room of course! What is it? Sleep apnoea? Night terrors? Sleep walking? I have to share with my twin here and it's terrible."
Josie knocked her sister, her twin, with her elbow.
"If you hurry up with the hair dryer I might not take so long in the shower and-"
Maybe if Harriet just ran, no one would notice?
Sadly, the last girl, Hope she had said her name was, stepped in and diverted attention back around to Harriet who had taken one more step down the hall to imagined freedom.
Tell my daughter I miss her will you, love?
Do not bombard the poor girl now, Nik. You can clearly see she is struggling.
Oy, darling, tell that Bennet witch how positively delightful she looks lately.
Kol, enough of your nonsense. Leave her be-
Euphemia… Can you hear me now? You have to tell Hope the truth. She's your-
Harriet's jaw clamped down, she tasted copper on her tongue, bitter and sweet and intoxicatingly appalling, and she, as she always did lately, pretended the voices didn't exist.
She was not a messenger, she was not a messiah, she just wanted to be left alone.
She could not save anyone.
She could barely save herself.
Her hand darted into her jeans pocket, fingers tightening around the vial, glass threatening to break under the pressure.
"Don't go scaring off the new girl just yet. You coming for that tour, then?"
They're staring now.
Waiting.
She should tell them she was feeling nauseous, and tired, and needed to rest for a bit. That, for once, would not be a lie, but-
Promise me you'll try, Effie.
Harriet Lenoir did the one thing she had been doing since childhood.
Grinned through the pain.
"Sure… Sure. Here."
She offered her timetable out.
"Maybe you can show me where my lessons are? But first can you show me where the bathroom is?"
Josie took the timetable carefully, and waved her along, thankfully remembering not to get too close this time, and soon, everyone fell in line.
Something heavy settled around Harriet's throat.
It felt like a noose.
Euphemia, don't do it! It's poisoning you! If you would please just listen to me you will see I mean you no harm-
"Right this way."
In the bathroom, alone, door locked, girls waiting outside for her, voices screaming in her head, Harriet downed the black potion.
She was only supposed to take two a day.
III
"And this is Professor Parker's classroom. You'll be in here most of the week according to your timetable."
Harriet lingered at the door even as the rest of the group entered.
The classroom was like all the others, soft woods, warm paint, a table at the side of a chalkboard before a small sea of single seated writing desks. There were plants on the large windowsills to the right of the room, green and lush, and well cared for. Hemlock and Nightshade and Snakeroot.
All poisonous.
A part of the Professor himself sneaking out through the cracks of the cosy veneer, Harriet suspected.
Yeah, I see you, dickhead.
"What's he like?"
Lizzie scoffed by a desk.
"Who, Uncle Kai? A complete sociopath."
Josie stuttered, hissing at her twin through clenched, straight white teeth.
"Lizzie!"
Lizzie only smirked and cocked a well-groomed brow.
"What, he is! He admits it himself. You see, Uncle Kai is a Siphon, and being a Siphon in our family isn't exactly… Easy. Neither is being a twin when the Mer-… He's had it rough, but we all have here. That's why this school is so great. We have each other. You get it, right? You're a Siphon too."
You get it, right?
No, not really. Harriet wasn't a Siphon, she couldn't really imagine a place where her power was outside herself, in blood or moonlight or natures balance or draining someone else… But she could understand their treatment, from what Sirius had told her. Ostracization by coven, abuse due to birth, often times Siphons were murdered before their third birthday in fear of what they were.
All the good medieval like hysterics.
Harriet had spent her first tender years of life locked in an understairs cupboard because her family dreaded and reviled what she was.
That, she could understand.
What was interesting, however, was the whole Uncle part.
The three Siphons were related. What were the odds of that? Perhaps a mutation in their Wiccan ancestries-
Causes aside, something to ponder later, it was something valuable to file away.
Josie shrugged next to her twin.
"Uncle Kai's always been there for us. He understands what it's like to be something like we are. Don't worry, you have a terrific teacher. Strict, but decent. You're in good hands."
Harriet nodded.
"That's nice to hear."
Harriet sounded like it was anything but.
Hope scowled over at her from the chalkboard.
"You sound more Scottish than French. You don't look it much either."
Harriet frowned and strode into the classroom. The best way to deflect an observation that hit too close to home?
Laugh it off and make it sound ridiculous.
"Sorry I didn't come in wearing a bloody beret carrying a baguette under my arm to affix European stereotypes in the American pop culture consciousness."
She strolled over to the window, to the pretty poisonous plants lined up in their pots. A good teacher who kept deadly toxins in his office on display for all to see.
Something wasn't adding up. Tom Riddle used to do that, Harriet remembers. Shove his true nature right under his teacher's noses and laughed when they all overlooked it. It made him feel bigger than them, smarter too. It was all a game to him. People playing checkers as he moved in chess.
Was this a game to Professor Parker too?
Did it matter if it was?
Yes, if Harriet was to be under his observation for four days a fuckin' week, trying to seem like she too, as everyone else, was playing checkers and not chess. She needed to figure out his number, before he had a chance to add her two and two, and saw her answer as eight, and realized she had fluffed her whole life story.
Or maybe she was overreacting. Maybe he wouldn't see shit. Maybe he was a bit of an idiot, and his staring at the convocation had been mere curiosity over the novelty in the audience.
Gingers did tend to stand out, regrettably. Even more so when they were covered head to toe.
And maybe her name really was Harriet Lenoir, and she had any sort of good luck.
"I grew up in Britain. I only moved to France when I was ten, and even then I was home schooled by my very English parents. The accent must have just stuck."
It worked; Hope smiled holding her hands up in mock surrender.
"My bad."
Lizzie kicked back onto a desk, propping her feet up on the chair ahead.
"So, apart from the whole Siphon deal, what brought you all the way over to America?"
If Remus had not prepped her as good as he had, sat down with her in the kitchen for hours going over their stories, she might have stumbled at this hurdle.
But he had, and Harriet had practiced, and she could do this.
Stick as close to the truth as possible.
"My fathers-… I'm adopted. My parents died when I was very young, and I was taken in by my godfather and his husband. My mother actually came here when she was only a couple years older than me to do some studying. When she left-… Well, she went home carrying me. Bit of a surprise for her fiancé who had stayed back in England."
Hope winced.
"I suppose that didn't go over too well?"
Harriet reached out and stroked a leaf of Hemlock, flicking the tip with her thumb.
"It must have eventually. They married, mum had me, and then they were-… Car crash a few months after I was born. I don't think I was ever supposed to find out the truth, but…"
Josie shuffled.
"Your Siphon powers kicked in, and it rose some questions."
Harriet pulled away from the flowers and shrugged. Something had kicked in, and something had happened here, in Mystic Falls, seventeen years ago.
"It got my godfather digging and… Well, he found an old letter in my mother's Vau-… Belongings. It didn't say much, a request to see her set for three days after she died in the car crash, and a name. My fathers are looking into it."
Lizzie leaned forward.
"So?"
Harriet frowned.
"So what?"
Lizzie huffed.
"The name? What was it? Most of the people in this town have lived here for generations. Everybody knows everybody. Maybe we can help."
Josie nodded.
Harriet's gaze flickered to Hope, who in turn shrugged.
"Worth a try, isn't it?"
Yes but-
She really shouldn't. Sirius had said he was handling it. Remus would blow a gasket if he knew she was even contemplating the possibility of not lying through her teeth.
"Daniel Fotheringhay."
The lie comes smooth and sleek, and it comes quick, too quick for Harriet's tastes, and disappointment settled over the girls like clouds over a sky.
"No, sorry, never heard of him."
Harriet shrugged at Josie's declaration, and turned back to the hemlock on the sill.
"Didn't think so."
It wasn't like they would know an Elijah Mikaelson now, was it?
"Isn't it curfew soon?"
At her question, Hope Marshall nodded and gestured towards the door.
"We should head back to our dorms. Busy day tomorrow."
When the girls left to turn in for the night, no one glanced back, and no one saw the once lush and healthy plants whither and die and crumble to ash.
A.N: Next chapter is Harriet's first day of lessons, and it goes as well as you might think it would go lol.
As always, thank you so much for taking the time out to read my mad scrawling's. I hope you all liked it, and if you can, don't forget to drop a review, and I will hopefully see you all soon! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21